My Own Enemy
by XiaShadow
Summary: /For 2010 Summer Challenge.\ One of the girls in the back, a redhead, noticed the on-coming collision. He saw her eyes widen, and her mouth opened, her words coming out in a piercing scream, "Look out!" NOT SLASH. **Title Changed from Never Say Never**
1. COLLISION

"Hey, hands off!" Kensi Blye, Junior NCIS Special Agent, chided as she slapped the offending appendage away from her bottle of beer. Sam Hanna, ex-Navy SEAL and current NCIS Special Agent, gave her an unapologetic grin as he withdrew his hand.

Nate Getz, the Operational Psychologist, let out a chuckle, enjoying the show. He had a simple glass of Coca-Cola; the events of the last time they had all gone to a bar as a team enough of a preventative to keep him from the alcoholic drinks.

"Yeah, Sam. Stick to your own beer!" Eric Beal, Technical Operator, laughed as only a drunk man can laugh. He was on his third bottle already, and had lost one of his flip flops after he had tried to crowd surf only minutes before. "Everyone knows how you get when you're drunk!"

Sam snorted, giving the surfer a flick on his forehead ("Ow! What was that for?") and turned his attention to Kensi as she tried to continue telling her story.

"- and then, his pants just fell down! It was so awkward, especially when Dom realized that it wasn't the guy's gun in his pocket that was sticking out!" She let out a loud laugh, which Eric and Sam quickly copied.

Nate, on the other hand, frowned with worry. He knew that a good way to get over the loss of a loved one was to talk about the good times, but he had a feeling that the others were too drunk to really know what they were talking about. Biting his lip, his thoughts fought with themselves over if he was going to be the friend, and let them do as they please and cope the way that they did, or the Doc, who would keep them from emotionally hurting themselves even more.

The trio laughed again, and he nodded to himself. Friend it was.

"Where'd G go?"

Sam's concerned question broke Nate out of his reverie, and he scanned the crowded bar for the familiar face. Frowning when he didn't see him, he searched again. "He's not here. Bathroom, maybe?"

"Nah. G hates public restrooms." Sam pointed out, eyes wandering over the bar. Kensi and Eric had stifled their giggles long enough to frown in worry and share a glance before Kensi stood up.

"I'll go check outside. Sam, why don't you check the bathroom just in case? Maybe he just couldn't hold his alcohol tonight."

Sam murmured a response to Kensi's suggestion, standing up as well and striding towards the bathrooms. Kensi gave Eric a glance, "If we can't find him, I want you to be calling him every two minutes. Got it?"

Eric pursed his lips, for once serious, and nodded an affirmative. Kensi left the bar, leaving Nate and Eric at the table. They shared a glance before looking down at their respective drinks.

"Every two minutes. Callen's not going to like being pestered like that." Eric muttered, shoulders hunched in a protective gesture.

"Kensi and Dom were close. Sam and Callen are even closer. And now that Dom is… dead," he stuttered over the word, "Kensi and Sam are going to pull out all the stops to find Callen, even if he just went home or to the restroom."

The techie looked conflicted, and spoke with a low voice, "Dom's been dead for a week now. I mean, I don't want to sound like a heartless jackass, but they need to move on. Just yesterday, Scott went missing. All anyone did was send his picture to the LA 'Missing Peoples' thing. I just don't get how Kensi, Sam, or Callen work. It's like, because we're closer and Special Agents and not just office workers, we should get even more special treatment. Ya know?"

Nate gave a small smile, glancing at the now-four empty beer bottles on the table in front of Eric. This was why the team went out to get drunk every once in awhile: to talk about anything, get it off their chests, but then the next day at work they could pretend that it had never happened. Unhealthy, yes, but it seemed to be working, so Nate let it slide.

"In-group Bias. It's when a certain team –such as a sports team or a team of specially trained agents- subconsciously thinks that they are better and thus deserve more than other teams because of their relations or how they handle things." Nate continued with his lecture, not noticing how Eric's eyes had glazed over and he wasn't paying attention.

In fact, he was thinking about CoD: Black Ops. Man was he excited for its release date.

Sam sat back down, looking even more worried than before. "G wasn't in the bathroom."

"Why would I be in the bathroom? You know I hate public ones. Always stink. Plus, it's just creepy when you're peeing and the guy next to you starts singing 'Single Ladies'."

Sam spun his head around to face the voice so fast that Nate swore he'd have whiplash. Eric blinked from his daydreaming to smile drunkenly at the blue eyed agent.

"Hey Callen. Where ya been?"

Sam, as usual, bulldozed his way into the conversation, "G, did you see Kensi when you came in?"

"Yeah, I'm right here, Sam." Kensi slid into the seat by Eric, a new bottle in her grasp and a playfully sardonic expression. "Don't panic mama bear."

"I was not panicking!"

"Yes you were. Now scoot over Mom; or else I'll sit on you." G teased, and Sam snorted but complied.

Nate's phone let out a beep, and he flipped it open before closing it again and shoving it into his pocket. "Sorry guys, but I have to go. Hetty found out that I skipped a bit of my paperwork."

A chorus of 'ooh' rose from his friends, and he rolled his eyes and muttered a 'yeah, yeah' before leaving. But he walked out slowly, because Hetty really was quite frightening sometimes.

"So where _did_ you go, Callen?" Kensi questioned, taking a swig of her drink. "Sammy-boy here thought you died or something."

They shared a chuckle, leaving a very-drunk Eric to blink stupidly at them while Sam glowered. G smiled and elbowed his ribs teasingly. "Aw, I didn't think you cared. But if you must know, I was hanging out with that hot blonde over there." He nodded to a corner where a scantily-dressed blonde was giggling with her friends.

"Did you get a number?" Kensi asked, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively. They all laughed.

"Nah. She's pretty wasted right now."

"That's right; you don't like talking to people when they get that drunk." Sam noted, casually sliding his beer over to Eric, who grinned like a kid at Christmas. "I think someone is going to have to be your designated driver, Eric."

"I'll do it. I have to head home anyway; last time I stayed out too late I came home to the mailman and my neighbor makin' love in my backyard. _Not_ a good image to have in your head when you sleep." Kensi spoke up, faking an overly dramatic shudder. "C'mon, Eric. Let's go before you make it up to eight like last time."

She grabbed his elbow, forcibly yanking him from the seat and dragging him after her. Eric had the look of a kicked puppy, one arm outstretched towards the last bottle of beer, before he was pulled out the door.

Sam turned to G, "So where are you staying tonight?"

Callen shrugged, cracking his knuckles absently. It was a trait that Sam had noticed early on, and G seemed to only do it when he didn't want to answer a question. "Just drop me off at-"

"Don't tell me you're sleeping on the street now, G!" Sam exclaimed, exasperated.

"It's always been my dream to be a hobo."

"Shut it, G, and let's go." Sam ground out, standing up and waiting for his friend to join him.

"I thought kidnapping was a federal offense. Or something else like that." G replied flippantly, but stood up obediently and followed the ex-Navy SEAL out of the bar and onto the dark street. "Where'd you park?"

"Under the streetlamp." Sam motioned to the streetlamp that stood at the edge of the street.

"I'm going to laugh if it goes out suddenly and you scream like a little girl again." G chuckled, ducking to avoid a punch aimed for his shoulder. "Hey! Don't get all grumpy. It's not like I'm lying."

"It was one time, G. One time!" Sam insisted, unlocking the car door and sliding in, Callen doing the same on the passenger side. Halfway in, he paused.

"Shouldn't I be driving?"

"What? Hell no! I saw what happened to your last car. You ain't driving mine."

"You're also drunk. Would you like to explain to Hetty why you got a ticket?" Callen said, effectively laying down his trump card. Sam muttered a response, but dutifully got out and switched places with Callen.

"Okay. Now, how do you drive a stick?"

"G!"

"I'm kidding. Sheesh." He grinned impishly at Sam, turning the key and pulling out of the dark parking lot and into the street. They drove in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Sam spoke up.

"Take the freeway here. It'll be faster."

G raised an eyebrow at the demand. "You know I never take the freeway."

"My car. My house. My driving routes." Sam insisted, and G rolled his eyes but complied. Thunder boomed ahead, followed by a sudden downpour. Callen fumbled for the windshield wiper switch, turning it so that the two sticks –for that was what he thought of them as, stupid sticks that never got a little v of rain- whipped back and forth.

"G, this is the exit." Sam pointed out, and Callen flicked the blinker on in one a smooth movement, cutting across the lanes to reach the designated exit. "Wow. No wonder you had to go to traffic school."

"I used the blinker, which is more than Kensi does." G retorted, and Sam rolled his eyes. The road curved inwards, and Callen made sure to drive a little under the speed limit, just to piss Sam off. "Look. I'm even going slower than you're supposed to!"

Sam snorted, "That's illegal too, G. You can't go too fast or too slow. How can you not know this? Do you even have your license?"

"Well, yeah. But I forget what we learned, okay?"

"In one ear, out the other, right?" Sam teased, and Callen stuck his tongue out at him childishly. He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal a little harder, as he really didn't want to have to go back to traffic school.

Lightning flashed overhead, bathing the road in pale light. Not just the road, either. It also showed a car with no headlights on screaming towards them. "Shit." G cursed quietly, swerving out of his lane to dodge the car. The drivers of the other car seemed to have the same idea, and suddenly they were right in front of G.

He could see them all in a startling clarity. Four girls, crammed in the backseat. Two guys up front, turned around to talk to the girls. At least a dozen empty Bud Lite cans littered the dashboard.

One of the girls in the back, a redhead, noticed the on-coming collision. He saw her eyes widen, and her mouth opened, her words coming out in a piercing scream, "_Look out!_"

The two boys spun around, their eyes widening as well as they saw G and Sam, who were less surprised and more tense than anything. All this he saw in a matter of seconds.

And then the two cars collided, and G was thrown forwards, flying out the window (and he couldn't help but think _oh shit I forgot to put the seat belt on_) and slammed into the other vehicle, feeling something in his leg snap as his pant leg snagged onto the edge of the car's frame, his momentum shoving him forward too fast for his jeans to rip or for his leg to be pulled free.

And then the concrete was suddenly in his face, and G's last thoughts were '_this is gonna hurt_' before he crashed into the asphalt, littered with shards of glass that sliced his skin and clothes.

A lone cry was heard from behind the unconscious Agent, as Sam Hanna desperately shoved open the door and stumbled to his friend, the only sign of an injury his bloody nose.

"_**G!**_"

.~.~.~.

**A/N: I'm sorry in advance if some of the car crash seems unrealistic or there are any other technical errors I did not notice. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Chapter two will hopefully be up very shortly. **** Thank you for reading!**


	2. FEAR

** Chapter Two: F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real) **

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and story alerts. **** And, on a random side note, I'm crazy excited because I'm going to be a sophomore in High school next year. Which is pretty good; considering that all my friends failed at least one of their classes, and I haven't failed any yet. Yay for trying hard! Haha; but I'll stop spamming my own story and let you read, eh?**

**Just one more thing: I've got another idea for a story. And I'm just wondering if I should go ahead and write it, or focus only on this one?**

**.~.~.~.**

"G! G, man, wake up!" A voice resonated above him, worried and much too loud.

_I don't wanna wake up. Five more minutes… _Callen thought blearily, letting out a quiet groan as he shifted.

"Hold on there, G. Don't move." The voice insisted, and Callen flickered his eyes open. He shut them almost immediately when the pain sensors in his body flared to life. He bit back another groan, trying to remember exactly what happened. He wasn't too worried about the pain; it felt nothing like bullet wounds, and most of the prickling pains had died down.

His leg, though, was another story. Forcing his eyes open again, he blinked furiously and tried to make sense of the blurry things in front of him. _Okay… I'm lying on a road, _G squinted, turning his head slightly to look around more, _and it's raining… wasn't I at the bar with Sam? - Oh shit! Sam!_

His memories of the collision came to life in his head, and he shifted his arms to get in a better position to stand. He managed to make it into a kneeling position before the pain in his leg flared up again. Something trickled into his eye, and he wiped his hand across it, blinking at the red substance as he fought to remember what it was.

"Shit. G, can you hear me? I called the paramedics. They'll be here soon."

That voice again. Callen mumbled something that he couldn't really decipher, blinking at the fuzziness in his thoughts. _Focus, G. Focus. I flew out the windshield… God, Hetty's gonna kill me when she finds out I didn't wear a seatbelt. _His thoughts wandered further from figuring out what was going on, to the point where they almost disappeared completely.

"G!"

The shout woke him from his brief lapse into unconsciousness, and with a moan he forced his eyes to open fully, staring into the familiar face of his friend. _Sam looks fine… bloody face, but otherwise pretty healthy… _ Callen licked his lips (they tasted like copper, and had a liquid substance on them that he couldn't identify but knew it wasn't rain) and opened his mouth, intent on telling Sam to move backwards six inches. It was amazing creepy with that face so close. All that came out of his mouth was so hoarse that it was more of a groan than any actual words, and he winced. He swallowed, the movement causing a headache to show itself.

"G?"

Callen tried again. "S'okay…" He immediately winced as his headache caused a painful throbbing on his temple.

"Like hell it's okay! You just flew out of a car windshield, and because it's _you _and _your_ crappy luck, you landed in a bunch of glass!" Sam ranted, throwing up his arms in worried exasperation.

G let out a small, hoarse laugh that actually sounded more like a choking animal to Sam than a laugh. "Don't… mock me." G managed to get out, noting how odd it was for his throat to be this sore, or for his voice to be this rough, "You okay?"

"Yeah; I'm fine. Think I broke my nose, but that's about it." Sam answered, clearly relieved that G was up to speaking. Callen opened his mouth to ask, but Sam being Sam answered his unspoken question, "I already called Hetty. You won't have to explain what happened."

G nodded, twisting into a sitting position and hissing in a painful breath when his leg screamed in protest. Sam placed a hand on his back, helping him stay steady. "That leg doesn't look too good, buddy. I doubt you'll be chasing bad guys for a while."

"Just… what I need." Callen joked, trying to lighten the mood. Whenever Sam got worried, angry, or nervous, it set Callen on edge as well. Sam not smiling, not being happy, just didn't seem like Sam to him. "I finally… get back after the shooting… and I'm down and out again."

"At least you aren't riddled with bullet holes like Swiss cheese this time," Sam smiled, and G breathed in deep, trying to remember exactly what that had felt like. He remembered the impacts of the bullets, the burn in his chest as he fought for air, and a faint pain. But then he had gone unconscious; and when he woke up again he was on a morphine drip and couldn't really feel much of anything. His breath hitched as a new pain flared up from his chest, and that feeling was most definitely _not_ a new sensation. Broken ribs never felt good, especially if you had to chase down a murderer right after the blow was inflicted. He remembered that time quite well.

A thought came to him, and he frowned when he realized that he hadn't thought of it before now.

"Sam? What about the other car?" He swallowed again, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. He vaguely realized that he had been breathing through his mouth, as something was blocking his nose. Raising a hand as he watched Sam fidget, he wiped it across his face and peered at the red liquid. Blood, and quite a bit of it, too.

"It's from a pretty nasty gash on your forehead. Don't worry too much; head wounds always bleed a lot." Sam answered the question in G's ice blue eyes, his own sliding away to stare down the road.

"Sam." G said forcefully, and Sam's eyes returned to stare into his, "What about the other car?"

Sam let out a sigh, hanging his head momentarily before bringing it back up to look into G's face with a mournful expression. "I checked on them right after I found your pulse. They…" he trailed off, seeming to try and think of his next words, but eventually decided to just say it straight out.

"They're dead. All six. I'm pretty sure they died on impact."

**.~.~.~.**

**I'm mean. **


	3. BLEEDING

**Chapter three: BLEEDING**

**Thank you for reading. **

**.~.~.~.**

Callen closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to silence the sudden rush of guilt that swarmed his brain and caused his stomach to flip. _If I had just turned faster, noticed them sooner… No. Don't think like that. _He silently commanded himself.

The sound of sirens broke him from his musings, and he opened his eyes to stare into his partner's; sharing a quick look of sorrow on behalf of the six teenagers. Sam dropped his eyes first, for once not trying to get more emotion from Callen. Usually, he would do almost whatever it took to get Callen to open up about anything, even if it was as trivial as the fact that G hated pet birds.

"Paramedics are right down the road, G. Try to behave when they fix you up, okay?" Sam implored, looked up once more to get his point across.

G rolled his eyes (an act that he quickly regretted, as it made the world spin again) but gave his friend a small grin in reply. "Maybe. But if they bring out a needle, I am not responsible for what happens to their face."

Sam settled his features into a serious expression, giving his injured friend a hard stare before smirking. "Then I'm not going to do anything when they sedate you."

G breathed in deep again, ignoring the twinge in his chest, "That would actually be kind of welcomed right now." He could hear the sirens, even closer than before, and could see the blurred flashing lights that were coming steadily closer. His eyes drifted shut once more, the throb in his head feeling like someone was shooting his brain with a nail gun.

His body gave a jerk when someone placed their hand on his arm, waking him suddenly from unconsciousness. He blinked slowly, vaguely noticing that his thoughts were even slower now than before, at the unfamiliar face above him.

"My name is Josh. We're going to get you onto the stretcher and the ambulance, and then we'll drive to the hospital. Is your neck okay?" The man, a paramedic he assumed, suddenly switched who he was talking to, this time facing Sam. "Has he been responsive?"

"Yes; he was sitting up and talking not even five minutes ago. He passed out again shortly after you pulled up."

"At least he woke up quick. Now, sir," facing G again, the paramedic leaned over him slightly to inspect the wound on his forehead, still speaking, "Do you fell nauseous? Dizzy?"

Callen opened his mouth, intent on answering, but nothing came out. The paramedic seemed to understand this, and spoke again, "One blink for yes, two for no, okay?"

Callen blinked dutifully.

"Good. Nauseous?"

One blink. The paramedic nodded to himself, "Dizzy?" G blinked once, his breath hitching. The next breath he took had an odd gurgle to it, but the paramedic immediately jumped to attention.

"Get that stretcher over here!" he shouted behind him, leaning back from the gash on the forehead to pull up the side of G's shirt, revealing a mass of bruises and swollen skin. He brushed his fingers over Callen's ribs, prodding in some places before his face settled into a grim expression and he spoke, more to himself than anything, "Multiple broken ribs. I'm 95 percent certain that at least one of them pierced his lung; he's got internal bleeding."

A group of paramedics appeared in G's hazy vision, setting down a blue stretcher and slowly (painfully in his view) lying him down in it and securing his neck in a brace. They popped it up, running with it to the waiting ambulance, shouting orders. He caught only fleeting bits of their conversation, too preoccupied with the pain, and the fact that it was increasingly harder to breathe.

"Suspected internal bleeding, low pulse rate, get that oxygen ready!"

His vision went to static for a moment, and when it cleared again he was inside the ambulance with an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and slightly aware that the vehicle was driving very fast. Callen's eyes flickered everywhere; searching for Sam. He found him, lying on a gurney next to him, although he could hear him complaining about how he wasn't even hurt.

Experience with hospitals told him that trying to say anything wouldn't work with the mask on, and the Emergency Medical Care course Hetty had forced on him (and his team) he also knew that if he had internal bleeding like the paramedics thought, he wouldn't be allowed any sedatives.

Sam's phone rang, and he grumbled a bit as he struggled to get it out of his pocket and up to his ear. "Sam."

The tinny voice on the other end replied something indistinguishable. "Yeah; we're on our way there now. I'm fine. G's pretty banged up, though; they think he may have internal bleeding. Yep. His clothes are ruined."

G groaned. _Hetty's gonna kill me for ruining them._ The paramedic, though, mistook his groan of annoyance to be one of pain, and leaned over him, her blue eyes staring into his own. He took a moment to think, _wow, she's cute, _before turning serious again.

The woman lifted the oxygen mask, pulling it down to his neck. "Hello there. On a scale from 1 to 10, how bad is your pain?"

He thought it over, his head pounding too much for him to really recognize the other pains. His leg was on fire, as were his lungs. _All in all, it wasn't as bad as it could be,_ he thought wryly. "Eight-ish?" It came out more of a question than he liked, and the paramedic nodded before slipping his oxygen mask back on and scribbling something onto a chart. She looked up at Sam, pen poised to write more down.

"This report helps the doctors, so will you please answer these questions truthfully? Usually we ask the patient if we can, but he needs the mask."

"Go for it. But I have to warn you; I don't know all that much." Sam warned, shrugging as much as he could while strapped down.

"That's fine. Just answer what you can. Okay: allergies?"

"Blueberries, but nothing medical-related that I know of." Sam spoke slowly, realizing just how little he knew about his friend. Sure; it was more than anyone else knew, but...

The paramedic made a noise affirming his statement, scribbling it down before looking back up. "Does he have any past medical problems? Heart trouble, past illnesses that left a mark?"

"No… he did have five rounds put through him a few months ago, though."

Callen grinned under the mask, feeling the odd impulse to laugh at how confused Sam looked. But his world was spinning, and the darkness in the corners of his vision slowly grew, and the last thing he heard was the paramedic saying, "Is he on any medication?"

**.~.~.~.**

**Callen whump. **** I love it.**


	4. HOSPITAL

_Beep, beep, beep._

…What was that...?

_Beep, beep, beep._

…He just wanted to sleep some more…

_Beep, beep, beep._

…Just…

_Beep, beep, beep._

…A little…

_Beep, beep, beep._

…More…

_Beep, beep, beep._

**.~.~.~.**

The next time Callen awoke, he couldn't stop the sharp gasp that escaped from his throat. He _hurt_- everywhere. Most of it was centered on his chest and his leg. His eyes snapped open, and he attempted to leap off the bed, the only coherent thought in his mind being, _get away from the pain; get away from the pain._

"Whoa, hold on there, G!" A firm arm wrapped around his shoulders, forcing him back down. "You're fine, you're okay. You're safe."

_Who…? Oh._

"S-sam…?" The voice that came from his throat was rough from disuse, and his throat was so sore that a sharp stinging pain lanced down it and he couldn't help but wince.

"Yeah, buddy. It's me. Now hold on; I'll call the nurse to get you some water, okay?" A shadowy arm reached across Callen's blurry vision, pushing the button that would send for a nurse. He blinked a few times, trying to get his vision to focus, but to no avail.

Sam seemed to have noticed his predicament, and soothed him, saying, "The doc said you might have wonky vision for a while. You managed to get yourself quite the list of injuries, G."

Callen made no outwardly response, but in his mind he flinched at the underlying concern in his partner's voice. He had made Sam worry. Granted, it didn't take much to get Sam into his Mother Hen mode, but G disliked it when people were worried for him. It made him feel like he would have to repay the feeling in some way.

A nurse hurried into the room, walking straight to the IV bag and changing the dose slightly before writing the edit down onto the clipboard tacked to the end of his bed. She continued to fiddle with a few of the other machines that he was hooked up to (and god, that was a lot) before she finally turned to Callen himself.

She gave him a soft smile and checked that the various tubes that were in him were in correctly and lifted his blanket to check his leg before speaking. "You must be thirsty. Hold on one second and I'll be right back with some ice chips for you."

She stepped back from the bed and moved to the door, pausing to tell Sam over her shoulder, "He can't quite have straight water yet, so he'll just have to suck on the ice to soothe his throat. Make sure he doesn't try to get up."

Sam nodded in response, and turned back to Callen as she left.

"Feeling any pain?"

Callen didn't need to respond; instead he just stared at Sam incredulously. The ex-SEAL snorted quietly, smiling.

"Yeah; stupid question," he admitted before his tone turned more serious. "You're hurt pretty bad, G."

"H-how-?" Callen tried, but his throat was still too sore to get more than one word out.

Luckily, Sam had plenty of practice in learning Callen's body language. "It was bad, man. You had a minor concussion, fractured your fibia, and broke three ribs. One of them penetrated your lung and caused internal bleeding and the beginnings of a collapsed lung. Thankfully, the EMTs got you here in time- you were rushed into emergency surgery that lasted almost five hours. You've been in and out of it since then; but you probably don't remember much of the last few times you've woken up a little."

With a frown, Callen tried to gauge just how long he'd been asleep. Again, Sam seemed to read his mind: "You've been out of it for almost three days now."

_Whoa. _The last time Callen had lost that many days was the shooting… his thoughts were interrupted when the nurse came scurrying back in, this time with a cup full of ice chips. She set the cup by Sam, turning to face Callen.

"Push that button on the remote if your chest feels tight at any time or you lose feeling in your leg; we want to make sure that your cast isn't on too tight and that your lung is healing fine. Dr. Marshall will be here shortly."

With that, she again left the room. Sam reached into the cup and pulled out an ice chip. Callen immediately reared back, away from the incoming hand. "I c-can d—"

"_G._"

And that was all it took for Callen to swallow his pride momentarily. The tone in Sam's voice, underplayed with worry and care and a brotherly love, had the ability to sneak past all of G's defenses. With a defeated sigh, he allowed Sam to drop an ice chip in his mouth.

Once the glorious bit of frozen water hit his tongue, all thoughts of pride vanished. It began to soothe his aching throat almost instantly, and he quickly finished the first chip and Sam gave him another. This was the routine that Dr. Marshalls walked into as he entered the room.

"Ah, Mr. Callen, it's good to see you finally awake."

Callen gave the doctor a small smirk, and Sam knew that G had thrown up a wall again at the presence of the stranger. "It's good to be awake."

It no longer hurt to talk, but his voice was still rough from disuse, and he coughed once to try and clear it.

"And how are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"_G…"_

Callen rolled his eyes, but complied. "My leg is sore and so is my chest, but that's to be expected."

The doctor nodded; a knowing glint to his eyes, "I'll up your medication for pain a bit, then. For now, all you have to do is heal. You'll be here for a few more days before you'll be deemed okay enough to leave, but even then, it's bed rest for a long time."

"Yeah, sure, doc," Callen replied flippantly, with no intention of staying away from work.

Sam, on the other hand, glared at Callen and then Dr. Marshalls a look to show that he would keep the agent from work. The doctor smiled at Sam and turned to leave.

"Hey, doc," Callen proclaimed, and the doctor paused. "How are the other kids? The ones we hit?"

A sudden, foreboding silence fell on the room. The doctor shared a look with Sam, who then turned to scrutinize Callen. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Mr. Callen," the doctor broke in quietly, "The children didn't make it."

And with that, he left, sensing that he would just be in the way of the two NCIS agents.

Callen froze, the words slowly sinking in. "But- Sam?"

The large man sighed before shaking his head, "They didn't survive, G."

"But… there were _six_. They can't- they can't _all _be _dead_."

His voice shook slightly, and Sam recognized shock and guilt swimming in his partner's eyes. He didn't answer, which proved to be enough for Callen, who shrunk back into his bed with a guilt-stricken face.

The words he uttered next were quiet, but still froze Sam's heart.

"_I killed six kids…"_

**.~.~.~.**

**Ohmygod please don't kill me D:**

**I'm sorry I practically dropped off the face of the Earth. But I'm going to be trying to finish all my stories by the end of the summer, so… yay?**

**Uhm, disclaimer: still don't own them. Boo. **

**Forgiveness is relished. Pitchforks and mobs will be understood, though.**


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